


Answer the Question

by remanth



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dead Body, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, case!fic, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 16:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remanth/pseuds/remanth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock asks a question and John can't answer it. Until he almost loses Sherlock and everything becomes clear</p>
            </blockquote>





	Answer the Question

"Answer the question, John," Sherlock said softly, only a thread of his usual imperiousness in his voice. He wouldn't break down to beg, not now. Not for something this important. But his eyes pleaded with John, pleaded with him to answer him.

"I... I can't," John replied shakily. "I need some time. You kind of just sprang this on me." John backed up, surprise and shock on his face. He tried to ignore the flash of hurt that crossed Sherlock's face before the detective turned away from him.

"Take... what time you need," Sherlock said, his voice filled with hurt. John was saved from replying by an incoming text on Sherlock's phone.

Got a case for you. Really weird one. Want in? - GL

All right. Where? - SH

881 Trenton Road. Bring John, might need his help too.- GL

Very well. Be there in about 20 minutes. - SH.

Sherlock looked up at John and tried to smile at him. It felt wrong on his face somehow, like his muscles weren't working properly. John just stared at him, his teeth clenching.

"Lestrade has a case for us," Sherlock told him. "Requested you to come along specifically. Are you willing to come with me?"

"Sure," John sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Can we just... table this discussion for the case? I don't want to bring it up in front of Greg and the others." Sherlock nodded silently, glad that John had at least agreed to come along. He swept up his coat, passing John his, and headed downstairs to hail a cab.

\-----------------------------------

"Thanks for coming, guys," Greg said, smiling grimly at Sherlock and John. "This one looks... well, just come and see." He waved them under the police caution tape, glaring at Donovan when she opened her mouth. The sargeant snapped her mouth closed and settled for glaring daggers at Sherlock's back. When they reached the body, John sucked in a shocked breath.

"Oh my god," John breathed, staring down at the pitiful wreck of someone who once looked human. "That... I've only seen that level of damage a few times before. All in warzones."

Sherlock ignored the conversation, his eyes flicking over the body. It was a young man, his eyes open wide in terror. His tongue had been cut out and dropped next to the body. He had been dismembered, the limbs laying next to the body as if they were still attacked by marionette strings. Numerous cuts and bruises covered the body, many in occult-looking designs. Sherlock finished his examination and stood to face Greg.

"The killer was a man, taller and heavy as evidenced by the large and deep footprints around the body. The angle of the cuts indicate he was right-handed and was above the body for most of them. So he had the body pinned to the ground and sat on his legs. Lack of defensive wounds suggests the victim was subdued, probably with drugs," Sherlock said, barely breathing throughout his explanation. "The occult symbols indicate that the killer is most likely psychotic. Perhaps he believes he's sacrificing the bodies. The wound that killed the victim was the cut across the throat, after all the torture. The limbs were removed post-mortem. This was all done here, evidenced by all the blood."

"That's just brilliant," John said suddenly, smiling at Sherlock. The detective shot him a gratified look, laced with enough heat to make John swallow. And remember the question that was still looming over them. He looked at Greg, amused to see the DI blushing at the exchange.

"So where can I find him?" Greg asked after clearing his throat.

"I haven't deduced that yet," Sherlock said, stooping near a footprint. He scooped some of the dirt into a jar and continued, "I need to analyze this at the lab. Coming John?" John smiled a goodbye at Greg and hurried after Sherlock. No matter what might be going on between them, he would always follow where the detective led.

\------------------------------------

"Got him," Sherlock said, satisfaction painting his voice. He had just finished analyzing the dirt and found some pollen that could only be found in a specific part of London. He also found brick dust and paint mixed in which would lead him to the specific building.

"All right," John said. "Why don't you text Greg with the location and we can get some dinner?"

"Who cares about dinner, John?" Sherlock said archly, surging to his feet. "The game is on! We have a murderer to catch!" Sherlock darted out of the room, his black coat swishing around his legs. John shook his head but followed, his heart speeding up out of anticipation. And the thrill of the danger that always came following the mad Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock had gotten a cab and was waiting impatiently for John to catch up. He shot a pleased smile at the doctor and folded himself into the cab. John followed and was surprised when Sherlock's hand crept over to lay gently on his. He smiled softly at Sherlock and they stayed silent. The cab pulled up outside an old building. The bricks were dusty, red dust laying over the street.

"This it?" John asked quietly, following Sherlock up to the door. The detective nodded, staring hard at the names next to the doorway.

"This one," Sherlock said decisively, pointing to the second floor flat. He pressed the first floor's button and talked his way into the building. Walking quickly up the stairs, Sherlock knocked on the door. A large brunette man opened the door, staring at them suspiciously. A necklace hung from a silver chain around his throat, the pendant the same symbol carved onto the poor victim's body.

"You," Sherlock breathed, glaring at the murderer. The man's eyes lit with feral glee, a snarl crossing his face.

"You can't stop me," the man snapped before dashing further into his flat. Sherlock followed without a second thought, darting into the kitchen after him. John waited long enough to grab his gun, thumbing off the safety. When he ran into the kitchen, he found the man holding a wicked-looking hunting knife against Sherlock's throat. The detective looked glassy-eyed and dazed. Blow to the head, John surmised.

"Let him go," John said quietly, aiming the gun at the murderer's head. "I don't want to hurt you, but I will." The man snarled, the edge of the knife cutting slightly into Sherlock's skin. The detective made a small noise, his hands fluttering weakly at his sides. John clenched his teeth tightly, fury rising at the sight of the small red trickle down Sherlock's neck.

"You can't shoot me before I kill him," the murderer snarled. He dug the knife a little deeper, the small trickle of blood growing. Sherlock was still swaying and dazed, his eyes blearily trying to focus on John. The conversation and question from earlier crashed down on John and his answer burned through his mind. He knew now, knew exactly what he wanted. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, John sighted on the murderer's left eye. He squeezed the trigger gently, the gun barking in his hand.

The murderer didn't even have time to react before the bullet tore into his brain. He fell, the knife clattering to the floor. Sherlock would have followed him down if John hadn't rushed forward and caught his partner, stemming the blood from the cut on his neck. John kissed his cheek gently, love and affection roaring through him.

"You should have waited for me," John told Sherlock shakily. "I almost lost you." Sherlock looked up at him, his eyes finally able to focus a little bit.

"Haven't I already lost you?" Sherlock asked, bitterness flowing through his voice. John smiled, tears pricking his eyes.

"Ask me again, Sherlock," John said, pulling him close against him. "I want to hear your question again." Sherlock huffed at him, suspicion in his eyes. But he gazed at John for several moments, seeing the truth in John's face.

"Will you, John Hamish Watson, buy milk for the rest of our lives?" Sherlock asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, Sherlock Holmes," John answered, lowering his face so that his lips almost touched Sherlock's. "I will make sure you never run out of milk ever again." The smile took over Sherlock's face, mirroring the one John was giving him. The proposal asked and accepted, John closed the last of the space between them and kissed Sherlock gently.

"I love you, you madman," John said affectionately.

"I love you, too," Sherlock replied before kissing John again.


End file.
